Draft/timeline

E. cannot sit still. He cannot stay quiet. After my first two hours teaching him, I was sure he had some form of verbal and physical Tourette’s. Some stimulus (which I’m unable to predict mostly) will send him leaping from his seat, across the room, or table shaking, or in and out of closet darting.

He is very likeable, when he’s not driving you crazy. He loves performing arts. He’ll see me of a morning, and call out, “Miss! Do I have you today?! Acting! I want to _act_!”

In fact, no group of students will allow him in to do a scene with them. In fact, he would not be able to sit still with them long enough to prepare a scene. Somehow, though, when the groups are performing, his body will become still. He will sneak as close to the performers as possible (often in the cloak closet), crouch on the floor, and cover his mouth, grinning, watching every move and hanging on every word.

He drives his classmates crazy, and angry. He will not be quiet, even when I’m showing them examples of real sets from the internet, and showing them costumes, and make-up ideas. He will not sit still, even when I’m telling them about love juice— they will plead with him, yell at him (“Be _quiet!_ I can’t hear her!”) and try to push him into his seat so he’ll stop running around and bothering them.

Once, when I was trying to talk to him–close, telling him one expectation that I thought he could process–he climbed up the radiator and climbed around and above the filing cabinet, to duck a pipe on the other side and run away from me. He longs to be permitted to leave class to the bathroom, or for a drink of water. Alas, his advisor will not give him “bathroom tickets,” and so he can never be dismissed.

His classmates have been working on “I Am” poems, and thinking about themselves as part of their community and how they can consider history by checking out their own perspective. I found this piece of writing in the teachers’ lounge. It is the longest piece of writing I have ever seen Emmanuel write–the most I’ve gotten out of him ever is one paragraph, not counting the “apology letters” he writes when he is in time out. (“Dear Miss H. I am sorry I disrupted the class. I can contribute to performing arts by ACTING and being good. I am ready to come back to class and get a Meets for the day.”)

This unfinished essay says so much, and makes me wish I could do more.

“Final Draft/My timeline

One day in 19– of November 26. I was born. I was born in at 12:37 am I don’t remember anything.

When I turned 1 I learned how to walk and everybody called me cute. When I turned 2 I learned how to talk a little bit like saying cookie, shut up, mine, and mommy and mama.

When I turned 3 I learned how to eat by myself I was learning how to sribble srabble and spit at the floor and roll on the floor. When I was 4 I learned how to talk really really good but I stutterd sometimes.

When I turned 5 I learned how to get and sit on the toilet and do my business. Oh yeah when I was 4 my baby brother Dennis was born. When I was 5 I went to _____ Elementary school.

When I was 6 I went to 1st Grade I was the student of the month. When I turned 7 I was in the 2nd Grade I was the High Honor roll and perfect attendence and citizenship.

When I was 8 I was in 3rd Grade that’s when I started to be bad. When I was 9 I was in 4th Grade and all I got was perfect attendence and I was bad and got suspended 27 times and 6 superintenet. When I was 10 I was m ”

I don’t know which teacher graded the essay, but all she left was a smiley face, in gray felt tipped pen, in the left margin.

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Sometimes don’t you just wish you had a super power where you could put your hand on a child’s shoulder and click your fingers or something and know what causes them to be the way they are and what you could do to help? Feeling helpless is such a difficult thing to cope with when you want to do all you can do. I feel that way with my Mom sometimes, but knowing there is nothing you can do is hard to accept.